


Pull the Trigger (Live It Up)

by blackkat



Series: criminals do it better [7]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Family, Humor, M/M, Old and Married, Relationship Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 21:10:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5263706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obito crosses his arms over his chest, giving Madara a disbelieving and slightly horrified look. “Uncle, you are the <i>Police Commissioner</i>. You cannot make the District Attorney your <i>booty call</i>,” he growls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pull the Trigger (Live It Up)

**Author's Note:**

> A lovely anon over on Tumblr wanted to know what Tobirama was doing in this ‘verse. I suppose the answer is, ah, Madara. 
> 
> (Aka this is why it’s a very bad idea for my wife to go out of town, because I drink far too much coffee and lose all vestiges of self-restraint. I'm very sorry. But hopefully this makes up for the pure angst I dumped on everyone with my last post?)

By virtue of Madara's place as nominal head of the family, he’s the first one Obito informs of his and Kakashi’s looming nuptials as soon as everything’s been finalized.

It’s still dark outside when Obito takes the elevator up to Madara's penthouse, the air thick with the gloom of a midwinter morning, and even in the heated building Obito tugs his coat collar a little higher around his throat, grimacing in faint irritation at the twinge in his stomach. It’s been a month and a half since Gato’s little bout of stupidity, kidnapping a cop’s boyfriend without doing any sort of background check, but he’s mostly healed and entirely sick of the hovering Kakashi has been doing. Even though Madara is far from his favorite person in the world—a sentiment that is not, unfortunately, returned—getting away from his fiancé for a few hours is well worth having to visit his uncle.

Bracing himself, Obito watches the elevator’s door slide open with horror-movie slowness, then steps out into Madara's sleekly chromatic apartment. The air is rich with the smell of coffee, cut through with a faint undertone of burnt toast—the culmination of all of Madara's culinary talent—and even though Obito was buzzed up, he doesn’t see anyone.

“Hello?” he calls, slightly wary, taking a few steps away from the elevator. There's a pair of throwing knives in each of his boots and his favorite trench knife is tucked away at the small of his back, just in case (the Gato Incident has made him reconsider ever leaving his weapons at home), though he can't imagine what person would be stupid enough to attack the Police Commissioner in his own home.

Then again, the Gato Incident has also proved that just about the only intelligent criminals left are the ones Obito recruited to Akatsuki, so maybe he shouldn’t use that to reassure himself.

Before he can start to worry, though, there are quick footsteps, and Madara strides into the living room, still struggling with his hairbrush and straightening his shirt. Obito feels his brows rising, because even in a family of early risers, Madara usually puts the rest of them to shame. For him to still be getting ready now—

Well. Something’s different, and Obito is just nosy enough to want to know what, even though he’ll probably regret it.

“Obito, there you are!” Madara says, and Obito knows him well enough to recognize the slightly frazzled edge to it, though most people likely wouldn’t. “Have you had breakfast yet? Coffee?”

Madara's cooking is to be avoided at all costs, unless one wants a trip to the hospital and one’s stomach pumped, but his coffee’s usually decent, even if it does tend to be strong enough to strip paint. Still, Obito grew up in a family of cops, and anything but the black motor oil they brew tends to taste weak to him, so he nods.

“Coffee would be great,” he says, and follows along in Madara's wake as the older man sweeps into the kitchen, tossing his hairbrush onto a side-table and waving Obito to a seat. The toaster is smoking merrily away, but there's also a blender standing next to the espresso machine, filled with something vaguely green and seedy. Obito gives it a dubious look, because he hadn’t even thought that Madara knew what a blender _was_ , but before he can ask Madara is pushing a soup-bowl-sized mug across the counter. He takes it with a murmur of thanks, not bothering to ask for cream or sugar; that would only get him laughed at and mocked.

“Is something burning?” a low voice asks unexpectedly, making Obito stiffen in surprise and jerk around. No footsteps, but there's another man just entering the kitchen, tall and whipcord thin with a fall of shaggy silver hair. He’s dressed in a neat navy suit and pale cream oxford, jacket folded over his arm and dove-grey tie loose around his throat, and calm red eyes flicker over Obito for a moment before sliding back to Madara. One brow lifts pointedly.

Madara blinks at him for a moment, then curses, spins, and lunges for the toaster.

The other man snorts softly, then glances back at Obito. “I hope you weren’t expecting breakfast,” he says dryly, over the sound of Madara swearing.

Feeling suspicion starting to bloom, Obito gives him a crooked smile in return. “I’d hope that I would know better by now.”

Amusement flickers over the man’s aristocratic features before he turns away, pouring himself a glass of the concoction in the blender and then heading back towards the bedrooms.

“If you spill that disgusting mess anywhere, you're paying to have the floors redone!” Madara warns, raising his voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Obito watches the man—familiar, now that he thinks of it—slip into Madara's bedroom, rather than the guest room to the left. His voice drifts out as he calls, “That ‘disgusting mess’ has more vitamins and minerals in it than you normally see in a week. Drink your portion and stop complaining.”

Madara pulls a face, but reaches for the glasses regardless. At that moment, the man’s identity clicks in Obito's head, and it takes effort not to let himself gape like a fool.

“You're _dating_ the District Attorney?” he hisses, utterly shocked. As far as he’s always known, Madara has had a raging and extremely pathetic crush on the married Mayor, Hashirama. Who is also said District Attorney’s older brother, if he’s remembering the family connection correctly.

Even for Madara, that’s truly one hell of a weird situation. Especially given that Obito has _many_ memories of him cursing Tobirama Senju’s name to the deepest pits of hell.

Madara gives a startled squawk, then spins to glare at him, though that expression looks far closer to ‘deer on the freeway’ than ‘bloody murder’. “We’re not dating!” he hisses back, flapping his arms expressively and barely managing to restrain a splutter. “This—it’s—we’re acquaintances! With occasional benefits!”

Obito crosses his arms over his chest, giving his uncle a disbelieving and slightly horrified look. “Uncle, you are the _Police Commissioner_. You cannot make the District Attorney your _booty call_ ,” he growls.

With startling speed, Madara goes pale, then crimson. Before he can manage a defense, however, the Honorable Tobirama Senju wanders back into the kitchen, rinses his glass, and then says distractedly, “You need to do laundry—you're almost out of socks. Have you seen my briefs on the Yagura case?”

Instantly sidetracked, Madara glances over at him. “Try the edge of the entertainment center,” he suggests. “You were looking them over last night during the movie.”

With a nod in thanks, the lawyer slips into the living room, still on soundless feet. Obito watches him go, then turns back to his uncle with a judgmental eyebrow raised. Madara, however, doesn’t see it, following Tobirama to lean casually in the doorway.

“Are you working late tonight? I can make dinner.”

Even from where he’s sitting, Obito can see Tobirama grimace. “Don’t,” he says flatly, tucking several folders into a briefcase and snapping it shut. “I have a late conference call with Ao, the DA from Kiri, but I should be back by eight. If you can wait that long, I’ll cook. If not, order takeout and save me some.” He gives Madara an exasperated look as he brushes past, heading for the bedroom again, but Obito would have to be fully blind not to see the way his hand lingers on Madara's arm as he passes.

Madara watches him disappear through the doorway, then gives Obito a look that is one part satisfaction and three parts smugness. “That’s the only way to get him out of the office before midnight, the damned workaholic,” he confides, seeming to conveniently forget the eighty-hour work-weeks he’s been known to pull frequently himself. “He seems to think I can't taste my own food. Hah!”

Given that Obito had been under the same impression, he’s not surprised. It does, however, put a whole new spin on Madara insisting he help with Christmas dinner, no matter how Mikoto tries to gracefully tell him ‘not over my dead body’.

“Not dating, huh?” Obito says dryly, half a second before Tobirama steps back into the kitchen, buttoning up his overcoat as he wraps a scarf around his neck. Madara shoots Obito a slightly wild-eyed look, then turns to give the DA a faintly forced smile. “Tonight, then?” he asks. “Don’t be too much of a pigheaded asshole at work. And don’t think I don’t notice you stealing all of my ties, Senju.”

Tobirama rolls his eyes, but accepts the brief kiss Madara gives him regardless. “But how else am I supposed to win my cases?” he says blandly, all but dripping sarcasm. “And you have nothing to complain about. You told me you hated this tie."

Briefly, Madara looks surprised. Then he huffs. “It’s the principle of the thing,” he complains. “Stop being a skinflint and buy more of your own, if you want some variety.”

“But I like yours,” Tobirama counters, tone dropping to something soft and intimate, though his cool expression hardly changes except for a flicker of warmth around his eyes. For that, Madara gives him a smirk and another quick kiss.

After a heartbeat, Tobirama pulls back and adds, “By the way, I told your secretary to call me if you made her cry again, and I’d help her sue you for all you were worth.”

Madara snorts. “Better she call you than HR. That Namikaze is a damned bleeding-heart moron. I’d rather deal with a lawsuit from you than a lecture from him any day.”

“If you make me file a workplace harassment suit against you, I'm moving back in with my brother,” Tobirama warns, then kisses Madara one last time, inclines his head to Obito, and heads for the door.

Obito gives his uncle a speaking look. “Not dating, then,” he agrees dryly. “I’ll buy that, since you seem to have skipped straight to gross old married couple.”

He gets a dishcloth thrown in his face in return. “Oh, shut up, you little brat,” the older man mutters. “I haven’t had enough coffee for this yet.”

Because he’s a little shit and has never found reason to deny it, Obito waits until Madara has taken a massive gulp from his mug to prudently lean back in his chair and say, perfectly nonchalant, “So I suppose I should give you a plus-one invitation to _my_ wedding, then.”

Madara spits his coffee all over the breakfast bar, and Obito laughs so hard he pulls his stitches.


End file.
